Jigsaw
by rubylis
Summary: Nightwing and Donna Troy track down a threat to Roy Harper's life. Some strong language.
1. Default Chapter

JIGSAW

by Lis (a/k/a Ruby Lis)

COPYRIGHT: All characters owned and copyrighted by D.C. Comics/Time-Warner AOL. I'm just taking them out for a creative frolic. Promise to put them back where I found them when I'm done. Story is copyrighted by me. Please ask before archiving.

RATING: PG for a few cuss words.

SUMMARY: Nightwing and Donna Troy track down a threat to Roy Harper's life.

  
  


PART ONE

I stood in Donna Troy's penthouse enjoying the view of the city. It was a great view. She was in the kitchen behind me. I didn't want to turn around. If I turned around, we'd be face to face and I just wasn't ready to deal with that yet. Truth was, I didn't want to deal with this situation at all. I wanted it to go away. 

We had just spent the better part of two months helping our best friend Roy Harper--a/k/a Arsenal--through his first round of chemotherapy. It was supposed to be his only round. 

I fingered the bottles in my pocket. One was from a drug manufacturer. The other was from Roy's hospital. I felt Donna's eyes watching me. With a sigh, I joined her in the kitchen. I put the two bottles on the counter. She glanced at them, then me. 

"Well?"

"You're right, it's been diluted."

Without a word, Donna scraped "Congratulations, Roy!" off the cake she was icing. She added another layer of frosting and some artsy swirls to cover the bare spot. So much for celebrating. 

"What made you suspicious?"

"You remember Sharon?"

"Strawberry blonde, 5' 8", legs up to here?" She gave my shoulder a playful punch. "Your first roomie, yeah, I remember. I did help you find her, you know."

"She went through chemo a few years ago."

"And?"

"And Roy wasn't even close to being as sick as she was."

I picked off a frosted petal and popped it in my mouth. Donna slapped my hand away.

"Good instincts."

"If they had been good, I would have said something sooner."

I laid my hand across hers, forced her to stop and really look at me.

"What happened?"

"Dr. Masinov called with the lab results. The cancer hasn't changed. It's exactly the same, Dick. Exactly."

  
  


"So--" I walked behind her, kneaded her shoulders as I mentally put the pieces together. "--if the drugs were normal strength, they would have killed off the cancer. If they had been fake, the cell growth would have been off the charts."

"Mm-hmm."

"No change. So there was just enough medicine to pass for the real thing."

Donna nodded. "Just enough to cause some side effects." She turned to face me. "I want the person responsible for this."

"You'd probably kill him." I'd said it with a smile, half-joking. 

"Wouldn't you?"

That stopped me cold. I had half-expected her to pat my arm, flash me a smile and tell me to be careful. What she hadn't said told me more than anything that she wasn't angry. She had passed that stage some time ago. 

Some detective, huh? Took me this long to realize I was dealing with one seriously pissed off Amazon. Never good to be on the bad side of someone who can bench press a tank.

I started to say something quippy like "I'll try not to." Crack a joke. Take the tension in the room down a notch. Something cold slid into Donna's eyes. I kept my mouth shut. 

She went still. Batman still. I had seen her kill. Self defense every time. I'd never seen her commit murder. She so often fell into the role of den mother or confidante, it was easy to forget that Donna came from a long line of warriors. Hunters. Women who could give you the look she was giving me while they speared your heart from a hundred yards away.

Unnerving but effective. If I didn't get answers soon, she would. I negotiated.

"Give me 48 hours."

"24."

"36." 

"12."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Only the quirk of her lips beneath those too serious eyes gave her away. 

"36." She agreed. 

I followed her gaze to the living room. Roy was helping his daughter Lian tear off crepe streamers to hang from the ceiling. 

"Want me to talk to him?"

She shook her head. I hugged her from behind.

"You sure?"

She put the bottles back in my pocket.

"You've got places to go and people to see."

I took the hint.


	2. Part 2

PART TWO

It was a relief to be in uniform. A relief to finally work off the nervous energy that had been building at Donna's. A few long, arcing swings and several blocks later and I was at my third stop for the evening. 

I started where you always start a case. At the beginning. I had the purchase order from the hospital. Easy enough to track the address of their supplier. Easy enough to make a late night house call.

Neville Harrison. Pharmacist.

Mr. Harrison was burning the midnight oil. I had a good idea why. Hard to steal drugs during the day when you've got eyewitnesses looking over your shoulder.

I watched as he carefully measured and diluted several bottles by the light of a small desktop lamp. Watched as he hunched over his books and carefully noted the drug amounts.

Then I flipped on the overhead light. 

He looked like a faded scarecrow. Ash colored skin. Spidery limbs. Sunken face. Jowls. Wiry tufts of graying hair stuck out from a mostly bald head. Even his eyes were that odd, washed out shade of blue that were just this side of death. 

I watched those almost dead eyes flick nervously towards me. Watched as they filled with surprise, then recognition and, finally, fear. 

"B-B-Batman?"

Okay, so maybe not recognition. I really needed to work on my p.r.

"Nightwing." I corrected.

I caught my reflection in his glasses. I would've known without looking, though, that my own eyes glittered with a dark, unnatural fury. Little trait I picked up from Bruce. Added a nice touch when I used The Voice. I was in full Bat mode and loving it. 

He was quick to talk but I didn't like what I heard. These weren't the answers I wanted. Problem was, he answered truthfully.

Most people think if you don't look them in the eyes, you're lying. I knew better. This guy was painfully shy, not deceptive. Part of it was his body language. Most of it was how he responded to carefully worded questions. 

I rechecked his books. They didn't add up. According to his notes, the drugs had been diluted by a quarter. I checked my own notes. Donna's sample had been cut by half. 

Only one explanation. The drugs had been diluted twice. Once at the pharmacy. Again at the hospital. I slammed a fist into the wall. Roy could have been taking Kool-aid for all the good his "chemo" had done. 

  
  
  
  



	3. Part 3

PART THREE

It was near dawn when I returned to Donna's penthouse. I had promised to update her. I knew she would be waiting even at this hour. I could have been here sooner but I had detoured back to the hospital to check out Harrison's story.

Supposedly he had a granddaughter who couldn't afford chemo. They had applied to the Wayne Foundation for help. They were turned down. Why? Because Neville Harrison made $500 over the Foundation's income limits. $500. Money isn't the root of all evil, lack of money is.

His story checked out. Needless to say I arranged for the girl's treatments to be covered. In exchange for Harrison turning himself in. Of course, I would've seen that the girl was treated either way. I just didn't bother to tell him that. 

There was a small square of paper taped to the window. Thirty floors up. It was a good bet the note was for me. 

"Gyros in the crockpot. Love, D." 

I changed clothes before I entered the penthouse. Sure enough, the aroma of Donna's gyros filled the place. I grinned. When she stressed out, she cooked. For her to spend all day on her melt in your mouth gyros, she had to be going through a lot. Good therapy for her. Free food for me. Who was I to complain? 

I filled a warm pita, took a huge bite. Heaven. It wasn't the Romani cooking I had grown up on in the circus, but it was a damn good substitute.

I checked the fridge. Tomatoes. Onions. Cucumber dressing. If I played my cards right maybe I could wheedle some moussaka or dolmas out of her for the weekend. I'd pass on the baklava. Didn't want to be greedy, right? 

I checked the fridge again. Grabbed a bottle of Aegean Ale. For real. Aegean Ale. Brewed and bottled on the island paradise of Themyscira. Hokey name, great beer. Roy and I took turns raiding each other's stashes.

Roy.

I glanced down the hall to his makeshift bedroom. The door was closed. Lights off. Quiet. He wasn't even snoring. I would have felt better if he had been. 

I loaded a plate and headed for the living room. A dark silhouette curled up on the couch. Donna. Light from the t.v. flickered across her face. I glanced at the screen. Nothing but Channel 53's station logo.

I plopped across from her. Waved my beer at the t.v.

"Hey, my favorite show! Tell me I didn't miss the best part. Hate when that happens."

"There's a best part?"

"Yeah--at 5:01 the fat lady sings." She looked skeptical.

"Seriously. At 5:01 a Metro Opera wannabe signs the station on with 'The Star Spangled Banner.'"

She gave me "the look". You know. Arched eyebrow, tilted chin, finger pressed against her lips. It was a look that every woman since Eve seemed to know from birth. It was supposed to be thoughtful. The real meaning could be anything from "If you loved me, you'd know why I'm upset." to "We are so not buying that red sportscar."

And, of course, my personal favorite I'd learned from Babs on our first dinner date. "Yes, you ordered dessert. Yes, I said I didn't want any. Hand over the cappuccino mousse or I'll have to hurt you." 

I'd seen Donna pull the dessert trick, too. Maybe it's a hormone thing. Not that I would ever suggest that to either of the women out loud.

I like breathing too much.

This time, Donna's gesture was easy to decipher. She just wanted to know if I was pulling her leg or not.

  
  


Right on cue, the station cut away to a large woman in a garishly theatrical dress. I grinned. 

"Would I make that up?" 

She threw a pillow at me. I laughed. Caught myself before I got too loud. Didn't want to wake Roy. Donna saw me look towards his room.

"He's not here."

That surprised me. 

"He's making a night of it with Ollie."

I glanced up. I couldn't remember a time when Donna had left so much unsaid.

She wouldn't look at me. Just kept swirling her fork through the frosting of half-eaten cake in front of her. I studied her face. 

"Donna?"

"He's supposed to restart chemo tomorrow."

"So?"

Her eyes met mine. It was a look that tightened my heart.

God, I hated seeing Donna hurt. 

"He won't go."

Her fingers trembled, sending her fork clattering to her plate. She set it down. I followed suit. The sudden nausea in my stomach had nothing to do with lack of food.

"I'll talk to him."

Her voice cracked with emotion. "He won't go."

I let the Bat creep into my voice, "I'll talk to him, Donna."

She crawled across the couch into my lap. Burrowed her head into my shoulders. Her fingers twisted in my shirt. I knew what direction Donna's thoughts--hell, our thoughts--had taken. Roy could die. How many others had we already buried between us? 

Fifteen years since my parents had died. Three years since Donna had lost her son. Grief was like that. It could well up out of nowhere, wash over you, suck you back into the darkness of old heartaches. 

If it had been Bruce, we would have gone down to the cave and spent a few rounds boxing each other into bloody pulps. With Donna, I wasn't sure who was crying first. She made small hiccuping noises against my chest. My tears dampened her hair. 

Donna whispered against my skin. Soft and rapid. Greek. I had to concentrate to understand. When I realized what she was saying, I closed my eyes and added my prayers to hers. 

  
  



	4. Part 4

PART FOUR

I woke to the warmth of Babs' body next to mine. Her hands had slid under my shirt. Her fists curled lightly against my shoulders. My own fingers had slipped lower as I stroked the small of her back. I lay there with eyes closed, enjoyed the feeling. 

Barbara and I were on the outs. We hadn't broken up exactly. At least, I didn't think we had, but we had settled on a new policy of agreeing to see other people. Not that I would. Not that she would, either. I didn't think she would. I frowned. There had been that one guy...

Her foot rubbed against mine. Some part of my sleep fogged brain knew that wasn't right. Couldn't be right. She shifted, brought one leg over so that her hips pressed against mine. My frown deepened. Barbara was paralyzed from the waist down.

"...babs?..."

"...roy?..." 

My eyes flew open. Donna's face--inches from mine--reflected the same kid caught in the cookie jar embarrassment I was feeling. A loud "ahem" from behind the couch distracted us.

Roy. 

He looked gaunt, used up. I hadn't seen him look this trashed since he had stopped using drugs. Light from the street hit his eyes, turned them a gold-flecked green usually reserved for cats. It wasn't a friendly look. If he crossed his arms across his chest any tighter they were going to break. 

"Comfy?"

A flush of red colored my face.

"We fell asleep."

His eyes lingered on Donna.

"Mm."

He turned towards the bedroom.

"Roy--"

He stopped, glanced over his shoulder. A mix of emotions flitted across his face then vanished. He went immobile, unreadable. He flashed the trademark Harper grin but it left his eyes cold.

"Hey, no ring on her finger, right?"

He gave me a little two finger salute, turned and shut the door behind him. I heard the lock slide into place.

I glanced at Donna. Apparently Babs and I weren't the only couple on the outs.

Damn. 

  
  


I caught up with Roy at Titans' Tower around noon. Thanks to JLA transporters, I was able to use my lunch hour to make the trip from Bludhaven to the island. Unfortunately, it didn't give me a chance to change from my police uniform.

He was in sweats. Unshaven. Playing Nintendo and losing. Roy never lost. Took me a minute to realize he was crashing his car into the walls on purpose. Running little old ladies off the sidewalk. Mowing down grocery carts. A cute fuzzy dog became a bloody splat on his windshield. I winced. Thank God this was only a game. 

"Your chemo's in two hours."

"Not goin'."

"Fine."

He looked up, suspicious.

"That's it?"

I leaned against the door, held up a finger for each point as I counted it off.

"One, you don't go to chemo, you die. Two, you die, Lian's next of kin gets custody. Three, Lian's next of kin is her mom. Four, her mom is heartless terrorist who set off a nuclear device that wiped out an entire country. Frankly, I wouldn't trust her with a pet rock let alone a child."

I didn't think it was possible but I became even more sarcastic.

"I assume you thought about all this before you decided to wimp out."

It was a low blow. I knew Roy had a real fear of chemo-therapy. He had fought tooth and nail to kick his heroin habit. He didn't want to get addicted to the cancer drugs. It was irrational. Phobias are like that. They don't have to make sense to affect you.

"Ollie agreed to take custody."

"Doesn't matter."

"But--"

"Roy, Ollie's not a blood relative." 

I watch the old resolve settle into his eyes. He'd give his life before he'd turn Lian over to her mother. 

"Lemme take a shower first."

There's a reason I admired the guy. In spite of his flaws he always tried to do the right thing. Sometimes he failed. We all did. But Roy had a way of dealing with failure that made him a stronger man for the experience. I could take a page or two from his book. 


	5. Part 5

PART 5

Roy was back in chemo. Unfortunately, Roy in chemo meant Roy being an ass. Donna and I tried to ignore it. He was fighting for his life. I could live without social niceties for a few weeks. 

We narrowed down our hospital suspects to a handful. Now we were figuring the best way to approach them. 

"I could go in as a nurse." Donna offered.

"Where would you get a uniform at this time of night?"

"She has one at my place." smirked Roy.

"Why would she--?" 

Donna blushed. Roy cracked up laughing. It was a harsh sound. I tried to salvage the situation. Tried to be professional.

"Of course, you were undercover."

"Under the covers more like it." Roy winked. "Right, babe?"

Donna picked up the pizza box and headed to the kitchen, ignoring him. I glared at Roy. He glared back. I knew he hated Donna's mothering. Hated having to rely on her to take care of him and Lian even temporarily. I half suspected he hoped she would kick them out so he would have an excuse to quit chemo. 

"Daddy?"

Lian stood in the doorway hugging one of her stuffed Power Ponies. All of the anger drained out of Roy. It was like his daughter flipped an internal switch that turned him from jackass to responsible parent in a heartbeat. It was a welcome change.

"Let's get you back to bed, princess." 

Lian lifted her arms to be picked up.

"Wanna Power Pony ride!"

Roy's shoulders sagged. No way he was able to carry her much less do a "cosmic gallop" through the apartment. 

Donna to the rescue. She flew in low, scooped Lian up in her arms, then arced upwards towards the cathedral ceiling. Lian shrieked in delight.

I watched Roy watch Donna. The look on his face said it all. He loved her.


	6. Part 6

PART 6

During our years as Titans, Donna and I learned a lot from each other. We were both spatially oriented. Which meant we both focused on scenes as a whole. I showed her how to spot a gun under a jacket. She showed me how to tell quality clothes from knock offs.

I still remember our first "professional" shopping trip. I paid attention as she oh so seriously pointed out the difference between French seams and overlock stitching. I nodded my head as she took me through perfume samples. Followed, naturally, by the makeup counters.

I thought I was humoring her. Truth is, I was being an arrogant prick. Hadn't I trained under the world's greatest detective? Hadn't I held my own for years? What was she going to show me that I hadn't learned in my first year with Batman?

I stopped laughing when her training paid off. Big time.

My point? This was the same situation. So far, we hadn't turned up much on our suspects. Whoever was selling the drugs was being subtle in how they spent the money. No exotic vacation homes. No fancy cars. No overseas travel.

It was time to take a more personal approach with our last three suspects. 

First up, Brad Branson. Orderly. He had an inch thick juvenile record for dealing. Oxycotin. Demerol. Percoset. Apparently he'd been clean since turning 21. Otherwise, the hospital's background check would have turned up something.

Donna was showing off her new stilettos. She grabbed my arm for balance. The tight skirt only added to her unsteadiness. Which was the point. 

Branson hurried off the elevator with an empty gurney. Donna stumbled against him. He had one hand on the gurney, the other grabbed her waist to try to keep her from falling.

Donna does a great pratfall. I sipped my coffee to keep from laughing out loud.

They landed on the wall next to me. Donna had one hand in his hair as she fell. I let my gaze sweep across his hands. Manicured. Waxed eyebrows. Blonde highlights. Bonded teeth. He was high maintenance. On an orderly's salary. I helped Donna out of his arms and to her feet.

"You okay, sis?"

She flashed a too grateful smile to Branson then nodded to me. He turned back to his gurney. I noticed he kept looking back, though, still checking Donna out even as he moved down the hall. Once he was gone, we compared perceptions.

"Nails, eyebrows, hair."

Donna nodded in agreement. Something told me he was the wrong person. What? I thought about the other details of that brief encounter. 

"Maybe he has a family member in beauty school."

I quirked an eyebrow at her.

"And you know that because--?"

"His hair was too dry, overbleached. No professional would have put more chemicals on hair with that much damage." 

It came to me then. His cologne. The initial scent was rich but it had faded too quickly. The after scent was harsh--almost medicinal. He was all show and no substance. 

Two days later we tried again. This time our target was Ona Hill, R.N.

At the nurses' station, Donna excitedly chattered on about the possibility of doing a photo shoot of hospital staff for an ad campaign. Her hands were all over the place. Sweeping gestures outlined her grand vision. 

  
  


With perfect timing, Donna's hand swept the air just as Ona Hill passed by and knocked her purse loose. It stopped inches from my feet. Contents scattered across the floor. 

I scooped the items back into the purse, glancing over them as quickly as I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Donna delaying the nurse with her apologies. 

I took a longer look at what was in the purse. Creme de la Mer. Expensive. But this was only a trial sample. Anybody could afford it. $9.99 on eBay. 

An appointment card for an exclusive hair salon. The kind of place that books a year in advance. Getting warmer.

Then I noticed the purse itself. Vintage Chanel. Vintage as in most people would have to mortgage their homes to be able to buy it. 

As I handed the purse back to Miss Hill, I caught a glimpse of the papers in her hand. A purchase agreement. The address was for one of the new, upscale Yorkshire condos. Prices started at $750,000. 

Bingo. 


	7. Part 7

PART 7 

We waited three weeks to officially celebrate the end of Roy's chemotherapy. Enough time for him to start feeling better. Enough time to be reasonably sure that it had worked. 

I fell asleep on Donna's couch. Again. Pulling a 36 hour shift will do that to you. Something brushed across my face. I half-swatted at it. Stupid bug was insistent. I slapped at my face--then bolted awake as a glob of shaving cream that had been in my hand splattered across my mouth. 

It was an old trick.

I wiped my eyes on my shirt. Sure enough, Roy sat across from me grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"Ain't payback a bitch?"

"I'll show you payback." I growled.

Roy danced out of my reach. I vaulted the couch and chased him into the kitchen. We feinted around the counter a few times. I finally took the chance and vaulted the breakfast bar. Something crashed behind me.

We ended up in the hallway. Roy lunged at me from a blind spot. I ducked and rolled. The bathroom door flew open and Donna--obviously in the middle of a shower--rushed in. I came to my feet ready for the next assault.

Roy couldn't stop his momentum. He knocked Donna back into the bathroom and landed on the tile floor. I held my breath. It was the closest they had been in weeks.

Donna ended up in a half push-up over Roy. She started to get up. He grabbed her arms to stop her. He tugged the towel on her head free, sending her hair in a shower of dark, damp curls around her face. A spray of water beaded across her skin. 

They looked at each other for a long time. Roy leaned in. Donna, unsure, didn't move. His lips caught a drop of water as it slid into the hollow of her throat. He grinned. It was a look that lit up his face. 

A look meant for two people, not three. 

Time for me to take Lian to the park. 

  
  


THE END 


End file.
